Gemotions

The first swing of the sledgehammer echoed through Amelia's kitchen. She dropped the dishrag, heart thudding against her ribs. She peered out the window. Mr. Henderson, normally a picture of placid retirement, was attacking his porch with a grimace of pure, untamed energy. The flower boxes she’d admired for years were now splintered debris.

He paused, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, a look of fierce determination etched on his face. Amelia’s jaw went slack. The old man, who could barely manage his groceries, was single-handedly demolishing half his house.

She found herself, almost against her will, stepping outside. “Mr. Henderson? Are you… are you alright?” she stammered, feeling a tremor in her voice. He looked up, his eyes bright with a feverish light, and simply grinned.